


Silhouettes and a Little Black Dress

by Throwthemflowers



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Arguments, Canon Compliant, Drunk Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Little Black Dress, M/M, Rough Patches, stunts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-17 01:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14822346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Throwthemflowers/pseuds/Throwthemflowers
Summary: "Salt-rimmed glass after salt-rimmed glass and soon Harry started missing cheeks and hitting lips, his beautiful, red-ripe mouth parted in the most indecent smile, his love handles poking from his trousers, his shirt unbuttoned to his navel. Louis watched him, obviously, taking in the absolute magic of his boy, observing all the little hitches in the way he moved, the continued degeneration of his hairspray, the way his eyes got glassy and sweet and how love seemed to pour out of him with no flood gates. Drunk Harry lost all inhibitions of expressing his deepest sentiments—his deepest sentiments being unadulterated affection.....He ambled through the party, looking for the gravitational pull that would mark his boy’s presence. He couldn’t find it. Then, collapsed on the sofa and pressed into her boyfriend, Louis spotted the pretty blond in the black dress that Harry had been dancing with earlier. She now wore Harry’s shirt and trousers."Or, when Harry and Louis have a tiff, Lou daydreams about Jamaica.





	Silhouettes and a Little Black Dress

**Author's Note:**

> So this deals with the boys' feelings and emotions around their media images and stunts, and obviously I don't claim any of this is accurate to their reality. I wanted, however, to deal with the idea of supporting your partner's/friend's pain when you feel that your suffering is greater. I know, personally, I've dealt with this many times, and it's often hard to admit that pain is not comparable, nor is it reserved only for events we think deserve it. Also dealt with; the little black dress incident, drunk consensual sex, and lots of emotional comfort. Hope you enjoy! Also my tumblr is hazzabeeforlou if anyone is curious about me :)

Their shoes were stacked neatly by the entranceway; Louis noticed this first. Next he saw the orderly row of hanging coats. The house smelled of pine and lavender, Harry’s favourite candles. Louis felt a twinge in his stomach. Usually when this happened… but no, perhaps he was overanalyzing. 

“Hazza?” No answer. He walked to the living room and saw Harry’s socked feet protruding from the end of the couch. He lay curled up in a ball, cradling his phone, ear buds mashed in tightly. Louis swallowed down the confirmation of his suspicions; something had gone wrong when Harry didn't sprawl over the furniture like a French model. 

“Haz, I’m home!” Louis yelled, swooping down to plant a kiss on Harry’s head. 

Harry looked up slowly, his eyes a bit puffy, and pulled a speaker from his ear. 

“Hi,” He said, slowly, as if the word were new to his mouth. 

“Harry what’s all this?” Louis motioned to the clean and orderly house, to Harry’s present position.

“Just spring cleaning is all,” he replied, looking back down to his phone.

“You know I hire people to do that, love,” Louis soothed, sinking down next to Harry on the sofa, letting his hand droop around Harry’s neck.

“Mmm,” Harry responded.

Ignoring Harry’s apparent disinterest in conversation, Louis said, “Got loads done today, maybe I’ll have you listen tomorrow,” and folded himself closer to kiss Harry’s ear. Harry jerked a little.

“I, er…. Ya, sounds good, Lou.” Harry pulled tighter into himself. 

“Alright,” He snatched the phone from Harry’s hand and quickly scooted to the other end of the couch. Harry reacted too slowly. Louis had five seconds to see the article before Harry grabbed his phone back. 

“Harold!” Louis yelped, his heart sinking. “You promised me you wouldn’t read that shit, you fooking promised.”

“I….” Harry swiped angrily at his nose. “Jeff sent it to me.” 

“Oh Jeff did, did he?“

“S’not his fault anyways, okay? Fuck.” 

Harry ran a hand through his hair, snagging his fingers on the knotted curls. 

“Baby. You’ve been doing so well,” Louis moaned, his forehead creasing up in agitation and concern. Sure, Harry had embraced his sexuality, his nonchalant fearless confidence, but behind closed doors he still struggled. There could never be immunity to some words. 

The article expounded, rather languishingly, on Harry’s presumed womanizing. Tucked in amongst praise for his solo debut and critical acclaim by important people were mentions of gossiped hook-ups and celebrity flings, topped off by the latest yarn, the long-term girlfriend. These types of articles bothered Harry endlessly, and—if Louis asked himself honestly—made him, in turn, annoyed at Harry’s annoyance. Harry remained an idealist and not easily amenable to grey areas, even for the greater good. Louis, however? He bore a beard, a beard baby, and a beard baby family, and yes, it did get to him some days, but overall he knew the truth in his heart. The stunts were all stages and mirrors and acting and perhaps because he’d been a theatre kid Louis understood the part he had to play, and, though he fought against it tooth and nail, he accepted what he couldn’t change about his reality—forced on him as it was. 

Louis also knew, however, that Harry felt incredibly guilty about being bothered by his situation, when, compared to Louis, he had the lesser burden. Some days he would collapse in on himself in a pool of self-pity and refuse to tell Louis his troubles in anticipation of being reminded how he actually had it pretty good. Louis hated that. He hated that Harry thought his discomfort invalid. He hated that sometimes…. fuck…sometimes he did bite back, huffing or rolling his eyes, did have to swallow the urge to yelp “you think YOU’RE suffering?” to Harry’s watery green eyes. Louis battled endlessly with how to soothe Harry’s pain when, honestly, he’d swap with him in a heartbeat and be glad of it. 

Love demanded selflessness, though. They both knew that. These days, Harry wouldn’t tell him when something little got under his skin. He’d sink into the couch cushions and sulk for half a day and deny his misery. Louis understood this behaviour verged into unhealthy territory, but Harry's silence did make things easier for him to handle, somehow. 

_Well_. Louis took a deep breath. _Not today. All pain is valid, right? Time to act on that belief._ He swallowed and laid his hand atop Harry’s.

“Baby? I’m sorry it hurts,” he said softly.

Harry tugged his hand away, nose twitching. “I know, I know. It’s not… I shouldn’t…” Harry sniffed. “Just let me be, Lou.” 

“Love, I’m here, we can talk about this. It’ll make you feel better, ya?”

“I actually… I have to send some emails. Call mum. I promised yesterday.” Harry didn’t meet Louis’ eyes. He sniffled again. Louis felt his cheeks suck in, his wounded pride coiling in his gut. 

“Right. That’s me dismissed, then.” Louis flicked his bangs and stood up, letting his hips swing as he walked away. Harry could be such a twat. “Be in me room, Harry, when you feel like snapping out of it,” he quipped, letting the annoyance fill him, knowing his tone cut the air sharply and that Harry had angrily jammed in his headphones behind him. 

 

Louis flopped down on their bed, sending airwaves through the plush comforter. He would take a nap. He would take a nap and not think about arguments, or work, or stunts, or Harry. As he pulled his phone out to switch it on silent, a picture dinged in from Lottie of her and some friends in front of the Hollywood sign. One of the girls wore a little black dress.

Fuck. Louis closed his eyes, but to no use. His brain inadvertently drifted back to that evening in Jamaica, to how the had humidity seeped into the very lighting, to how the air had smelled of weed and tequila and new clothes and bug candles. 

He’d convinced Harry to have a party mid-album recording because honestly, Harry had been working too hard. ‘Serious artist’ Harry had plum run out of steam, had become drained and tired; he needed to let loose, and so Louis had intervened. That night Harry had ended up a little looser than even Louis had anticipated; usually his Haz acted a clingy drunk, hanging on everyone and planting sloppy kisses on cheeks, but that night, Harry had ascended to another level... Salt-rimmed glass after salt-rimmed glass and soon Harry started missing cheeks and hitting lips, his beautiful, red-ripe mouth parted in the most indecent smile, his love handles poking from his trousers, his shirt unbuttoned to his navel. Louis watched him, obviously, taking in the absolute magic of his boy, observing all the little hitches in the way he moved, the continued degeneration of his hairspray, the way his eyes got glassy and sweet and how love seemed to pour out of him with no flood gates. Drunk Harry lost all inhibitions of expressing his deepest sentiments—his deepest sentiments being unadulterated affection. 

In the haze of colourful Hawaiian shirts and loud music, he eventually lost track of Harry, too busy dancing and chatting with music producers and inebriated guests. He’d downed quite a few also, and had just thought of lighting a blunt, when he realized he’d not seen Harry for ages. 

He ambled through the party, looking for the gravitational pull that would mark his boy’s presence. He couldn’t find it. Then, collapsed on the sofa and pressed into her boyfriend, Louis spotted the pretty blond in the black dress that Harry had been dancing with earlier. She now wore Harry’s shirt and trousers. 

“Er, love, have you seen Harry?” he asked.

She giggled furiously, her boyfriend blushing into the furniture. 

“Tha—that way,” She managed, pointing towards the back porch. Louis nodded his thanks and stepped outside the screen door. 

The moon shone brightly and the air felt clear and soothing compared to the party indoors. Louis looked around a moment for any sign of Harry, finally seeing his sandals tossed off at the steps leading to the beach access. Perhaps Harry had gone for a walk in the sand. 

Louis kicked off his own shoes and jogged down the little boardwalk until he reached the beach proper. The wind blew stronger here, the salt stinging at his eyes. He could make out a few footprints, but no Harry. He followed the prints to the surf where they turned to the right, remaining just above the water line, almost like someone had intended for them to be followed. 

Louis’ eyes were adjusting more to the moonlight now, to the soft reflective glow of the ocean and the cool grey of the damp sand. As he took his eyes from the footprint path to appreciate the horizon, he saw Harry. Relieved, he ran towards him, but as Harry became clearer, Louis skidded to a halt, his breath leaving him. 

Harry stood there, framed against the waves in the moonlight, sporting the little black dress. It fit far too tightly for his still Dunkirk-bulky frame; it clung to his arms and shoulders and drew tightly across his chest and came only a quarter way down his thighs and…  
As the wind plastered the fabric to his body, Louis saw an obscene triangle silhouetted against the water. Harry's hardness was tenting the little black dress as he looked at Louis, his bottom lip between his teeth, very clearly waiting for him.

“Knew you’d find me,” he said, and it came out a low rumble.

“Fook, Hazza,” Louis managed to choke out before closing the distance between them and gently tugging at the fabric defining Harry’s cock. Harry moaned. 

“Lou? You like it?”

“You have no idea, babe,” and Louis’ throat felt dry, his voice kept cracking, his balls were aching and the pit of his stomach had already dropped.

“Ya? I want you to fuck me,” Harry said, nipping at Louis’ ear.

“Here?” Louis felt his pulse pick up.

“Mmmhmm,” Harry moaned, jiggling his hips back and forth, making his package bounce around indecently.

Louis found his lips and kissed him, tasting the copper in his spit, the metallic flavour of need. Harry began tugging at his shirt. 

“Off,” He whispered, and Louis obliged, tossing the tee to the sand. Harry started unbuttoning his jeans next, his large, clumsy hands somehow pulling down Louis’ trousers and pants without catching his hard on. 

“Oh Lou…you should always be naked in the moonlight,” Harry said, unaware how poetically lame and mushy he sounded, only concerned with putting words to the truth of his unencumbered desires as he stared hungrily. He ran his hands down Louis’ torso, thumbs pushing in at the little dips of soft flesh, fingers grabbing at Louis’ hips, slipping around to find his ass cheeks, groping them shamelessly.

“Baby,” Louis whispered, his cock throbbing now. Harry began to grind against his thigh, making soft little grunts. Gently, Louis reached under the dress hem and took Harry in his hand. His cock felt wet, and going by the pulse of it, nearly ready to release. He kissed Harry’s collarbones. Harry mauled at Louis' shoulder with his teeth, at Louis' ass with his fingernails. Louis stroked Harry’s throbbing underside, gave a few quick tugs, and thumbed over his slit. Moments later Harry started bucking, his breath catching in gulps as he emptied into Louis’ hand. 

Harry slumped against him, breathing heavily as Louis gathered the precious liquid in his left palm and dipped in two fingers, reaching them around to slip down Harry’s crack. 

“You gonna get up for me again, princess?” Louis whispered, and Harry nodded into his shoulder. Harry took his fingers easily, the snick-snick sound only rivalled by the waves and Harry’s high-pitched whimpers. Louis closed his eyes and let time become measureless. 

Harry heaved out a groan eventually, and Louis looked down to see the black dress tented once more.  
“Ready, baby?” he asked, his own cock almost spurting at the thought. Harry again nodded into his shoulder then slid down Louis’ body, leaving a trail of wet mouth, to fall on his hands and knees in the sand. 

Harry wiggled his hips again, the black dress hitching up to expose the fleshy crease where his ass met his thighs. Louis slurped back the drool accumulating under his tongue.

“Fuck me, Lou,” Harry said, letting his head hang down, spreading his sand-crusted knees farther apart, his fingers digging into the sharp little broken shells of the shore.

Louis smeared the rest of Harry’s cum onto his own dick, observing how the milky substance appeared pearl-like in the moonlight. He delicately crumpled the black fabric back from Harry’s ass, exposing his stretched, twitching hole to the sky. Steadying himself by Harry’s padded hips, he lowered down, heard Harry’s gasp as his tip touched, felt the suction as he pushed in, sinking to his balls, filling his boy until Harry’s knees skidded farther apart, until his shoulders hunched up and his spine arched and his tummy grew plush and soft and hung tensionless towards the earth. 

“Lou…” Harry moaned, his voice frayed and raspy like he’d drunk from the ocean. The wind bit Louis’ balls from behind, contrasting with the warmth of Harry’s body around him. He savoured it a moment, and then, to the steady rhythm of the constant surf, he began to fuck. 

Harry’s hips tilted with his; wet, squelching noises mingled with hot breath. Louis paused several times to stop himself coming. Harry built up slowly when being fucked, and the sweat had just barely begun to pool in the dimples by his spine. 

Louis let the ocean coat his senses, let Harry’s moans guide his angles. Finally Harry began to tighten around him, so Louis dug his toes into the cool sand and rose up off his heels, thrusting downwards. Harry rewarded him with loud gasps that turned quickly to cries and then to screams. Harry had never been one to restrain his lungs…

Louis let himself come as Harry began to spasm beneath him. His load emptied hard and thick, and he felt somehow as if he’d _birthed_ into Harry. His nut spilled out around his cock, dripping down Harry’s thighs. 

When their breathing calmed and Harry grew silent, Louis gently pulled out, another flood of cum accompanying him. Harry collapsed to the sand, rolling to his side, and Louis could see a shiny pool of wet absorbing into the earth. The little black dress rumpled softly up around Harry’s waist, exposing his slackening cock. Louis lay down next to him, twining their feet and kissing his fluttering eyelids. 

“Baby you’re so good,” he breathed, unsure whether people ever recovered from nights like this. 

“Boo bear…” Harry said, his eyelashes closing against his dewy cheekbones, his lips forming a perfect _O_ just like a sleeping infant. 

Louis stroked his face, petted his hair, kissed any bit of skin he could as Harry drifted off, unbothered by the coarse sand or the spray of seawater. Louis watched him as the moon grew dimmer and the horizon began to glow a soft pink. Harry started snoring at one point, making Louis nearly combust from adoration. 

When the sun properly broke the horizon, Louis slipped his clothes back on and patted Harry half awake. He couldn’t hope to carry his boy, so a half-asleep-walking-Harold-zombie would have to do. 

Harry never even opened his eyes as Louis guided him back to the house. The lights were off and the people had gone, leaving cups and bottles and half eaten cheese plates in their wake. Louis walked Harry to their bedroom, dipped him down onto the soft mattress, and covered him with the light duvet, gently dusting the caked sand off his knees and elbows... 

Harry had slept until three in the afternoon that day. 

 

 _Fuck._

Louis opened his eyes. He’d gotten hard just remembering. So much for a nap. So much for being upset at Harry. 

He pushed up off the bed and padded back into the living room. Harry still sat exactly where he’d left him, eyes a bit redder, phone still clutched. Obviously he’d not called his mum or answered any emails, but Louis let that go. He settled down in the adjacent armchair and picked up a magazine, ignoring Harry as he burrowed further into the cushions. Sometimes this took awhile, so Louis prepared to wait it out. 

Louis liked political magazines sometimes, and he’d just found an article worth reading when a very loud sniff sounded from the couch. He glanced up to see Harry run his hand under his nose and quickly look down, as if it weren’t obvious he’d been staring at Louis. Louis raised an eyebrow before returning to his page. _Blue collar workers and the cult of Trumpism_ it read, and he’d just started on the second paragraph when a quiet hiccup hit his ears. He looked up again, this time to see Harry swipe at his eyes, twin spots of colour high on his cheeks. Harry still stubbornly glared at his phone, not meeting Louis’ gaze. Louis turned back to the article. 

_Some in this Midwestern town regret their decision, but most, like Shelia Mobely, still believe it was the only_ —

Harry lurched up from the couch clumsily and nearly dove into Louis, landing on his lap in an uncoordinated heap, his face pressed into Louis’ neck. 

“I’m sorry, Lou,” he whimpered, his deep voice soft and raspy. Then he dissolved into sobs.

Louis held his boy, smoothed his hands down Harry’s back, kissed the damp hair behind his ear, tried to steady the shaking of Harry’s ribcage. 

In many ways they’d both grown so much, and yet, so much had remained the same. No one knew, not really, that Harry still cried. Harry’s mum even thought he’d outgrown that tender-hearted, childish optimism so apt to shatter. But on rare days, that younger Harry won out, and Louis wanted to be there, needed to be there, ached to be there when that happened. Whatever the reason for Harry’s suffering, pain was pain. 

Louis hummed, gently rocking Harry back and forth until he grew silent. Louis’ neck and shirt were wet with salt-sticky tears and part of his leg had fallen asleep from Harry’s weight, but he didn’t care. 

“I tried to take me nap but I daydreamed about you in that fooking black dress instead,” Louis said softly.

“You really liked that didn’t you?” Harry smiled, his voice raw now. 

“Think it was the sexist thing you’ve ever done, honestly.” 

“I—Lou?” Harry’s voice started to break again and Louis held him tighter.

“Ya baby?” 

“I’m sorry I’m such a—“ he started, but Louis stopped him with a kiss.

“No I’m sorry, Hazza. I’ve made you keep this in ‘cause you felt guilty and ashamed, and it’s been hurting you. I want you to tell me when you’re upset, love, to tell me why you’re angry and why it’s painful. It’s okay that this shit hurts you, Haz. It’s okay. You’re allowed to be hurt by this. I was…” Louis felt something shift in his stomach, and he knew the truth. “I was feeling pretty self-righteous, Haz, thinking that my situation is worse but I wasn’t sulking and crying over it and… well…. I was feeling better than you, Harry.” 

He sighed and tucked a loose curl back behind Harry's ear. His green-eyed boy stared at him, nose red and eyelids pink and puffy. 

“Is that why you never cry?” Harry asked, his frown lines creating canyons.

“Suppose so, maybe. Don’t know really, Haz. perhaps I think crying should only be about important things, like…like…” He couldn’t finish, but Harry knew, Harry also felt the heavy absence in his heart. 

“I would hold you too, you know. Even about the little things, Lou. If you ever… if all this ever hurt you.” Harry dipped his head to rest on Louis’ chest, his cheeks still hot from his tears.

“Baby,” Louis crooned, feeling his throat knot up. He tucked Harry in tighter against him.

“I just told her, you know.” Harry mumbled. 

“Hmm?” 

“The girl with the black dress. I told her I needed to get fucked in it.”

Louis pulled back to look into Harry’s eyes. “And she just gave it to you?”

“Yep,” Harry popped the _p_ , smirking at Louis.

“That explains the giggling,” Louis murmured half to himself. 

“S’not like everybody didn’t already know we would be fucking. I told like twelve people even before that,” Harry added nonchalantly.

“Harold!” 

“I was tipsy, Lou, you know how I get.” 

“Bloody hell, Harry.” Louis tried to hide his smile, but Harry saw anyway. 

Harry shifted his hips and nipped at Louis’ ear, pushing up to straddle his waist. “Um, Lou,” Harry whispered, but his eyes were puffy from crying and his cheeks remained hot pink and his nose sported blotchy red patches and he sounded like he’d sucked on a thistle. Louis couldn’t help but giggle. 

“Hey….” Harry pouted.

“Love, I’m sorry,” Louis chuckled under his breath, “but you look pitiful, baby.” Louis kissed the tip of his nose and Harry sunk down, mock deflated, his lower lip jutting out. Louis dipped in and took it gently between his teeth, nibbling. 

“Don’t worry, Haz, I won’t let that deter me at all.” 

As Louis’ mouth pressed against Harry’s warm skin, time seemed to pause once more, as if to say _here, have this moment, I can’t promise more than that_. As they made love to each other, that moment became enough.


End file.
